


May I?

by quwinto



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, The Party Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quwinto/pseuds/quwinto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least the Nurse carries strong whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May I?

**Author's Note:**

> Took a quick break from my multi-chapter fic to whip this out.

Tybalt sees them come in. He seethes, grinds his teeth, and curls his itching fingers into fists because his uncle told him that tonight is a celebration. Which means behave tonight or I'll send you back to your father. He dances with Rosaline, sharing smiles with his beloved cousin and kisses her hand when the music dims. Tybalt retreats to the punch bowl and watches the Montagues mingle with his kin. He and the nurse, an friend from childhood, share drinks from her flask, the wine too weak for either of them to tolerate. 

A few hours later, with the flask empty, Tybalt has finally forgotten about the Montagues infiltrating the party. A smooth voice behind him interrupts his good mood, saying, “Excuse me, good sir, but would you do me the pleasure of giving me your next dance?”

Tybalt represses the urge to roll his eyes. No doubt it's Rosaline pretending to be coy. 

“Yes, of course, dear cousin,” he replies, voice dripping with exasperation. 

The speaker's hand slips into his and he is tugged out onto the dance floor as a waltz starts, and there is a hand on his back—

“Rosaline, you do know how to waltz don’t y—” his words cut off sharply when he finally looks at his admirer's face. It's one of the Montagues. He looks around quickly, but it seems they are in a smaller room where the music is drifting in through the walls rather than emanating from a corner of musicians. They are alone.

“Dearest Tybalt, why dost thou look so surprised? Surely thou knew it was I that asked you to dance.” There is a teasing glint in the eyes of the mask wearer as he continues to waltz with Tybalt to the faint music. 

“I am hurt, my dear Capulet. Wounded by your taken aback expression. Tell me you do not hate me so! After all I do love thee very much.” That gives it away.

“Mercutio,” Tybalt says coldly, and Mercutio twirls him. “Unhand me. Or I will raise the Capulets to arms.”

The other man laughs, the sound echoing off the empty room's walls.

“You wouldn't, dear Tybalt. Thou are as infatuated with me as I am with thou.”

“You know not of what you speak.”

“I know that you have not let go of mine hand even though you found out who I am.”

“I hate thee.”  
“Of course, of course, dear Tybalt," Mercutio practically coos, "And I hate thee. Now, your house or mine?” 

The answer's quickness betrays Tybalt's true thoughts.

“Mine, of course.” He breathes into Mercutio's neck.

Mercutio spins Tybalt one last time as the song ends, and Tybalt tugs him by the hand up the back stairs.


End file.
